


Rebirth

by mechadogmarron



Series: Second Lives [1]
Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Light Mind Control, Light Nonsexual Dom/Sub Themes, M/M, Sabbath Party, Vaguely codependent?, crybaby verse, takes place during episode one but with implied whole-series spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechadogmarron/pseuds/mechadogmarron
Summary: At the Sabbath party, Akira is reborn.There's someone his demon self loves just as much as his human self.





	Rebirth

When Akira had first followed Ryo into the Sabbath, he hadn’t been sure what to think. He’d never really taken his friend as the type to go to raves. Admittedly, it’d been a while — a long while — since they’d seen each other, but popping pills and fucking in public didn’t seem like it matched Ryo’s generally quite reserved personality. He’d been violent, sure, but only when adults weren’t looking.

He wasn’t quite sure what was in his drink, wasn’t quite sure what he was taking. Ryo himself was staying sober, even as his vision started to warp. Brilliant colors bled together, red and blue and green, the stained glass figures far above seeming to move as the sharp metal lines got wavy. The people around him merged together, a great amalgam of limbs; he couldn’t tell where one began and one ended. There was glitter and light and color, and as uncomfortable as he was it was easy to relax a little even as his heart hammered in his chest and the blaring music made his ears bleed. He wanted to curl up and die; he wanted to dance; he wanted to scream. Even Ryo’s comforting hand on his shoulder couldn’t do much to ground him as his senses seemed to slip around in his head, taste becoming sight becoming smell.  
He couldn’t actually tell what Ryo said when he stood up, his body distorting, five times wider and then ten times thinner, strange appendages sprouting from his back. Even as he tried to count them the number changed, four then twelve then seven then ten. At first, he didn’t even realize what Ryo was doing; the broken bottle in his hands painted a cornucopia of red, but in his addled brain it was hard to recognize that it was blood. The moment he did, he screamed for Ryo to stop, his own voice sounding distorted and foreign, but even if he had really spoken them — and he wasn’t sure he had — they meant nothing to his friend. Blood, death, that was what Ryo wanted, and he was taking them.

Then human flesh started giving way to demon flesh, and all hell broke loose.

He didn’t understand, not at first; all the stress in the world couldn’t completely sober him up. But he knew he was scared, absolutely terrified, and even more than that, he felt despair. There was nothing more horrifying than seeing human skin twist and deform, stretching like putty over warped skeletons, skulls splitting in half as one head became two became a dozen, striking out against humans, gobbling them up like foxes in a henhouse. Skin and muscle and sinew tore, bones snapping beneath jaws more powerful than any natural creature’s. Even as they fled, humans were torn in half, crushed underfoot, swallowed whole. The floor was bathed in blood and guts as techinicolor clothes gave way to cat and mouse, predator and prey.

He could hardly move, could hardly care when the beasts came after him, could hardly think. It was the end and he didn’t even care, already dimly aware of how dark the Earth would become so long as such creatures existed. If they wanted to eat him they could: whatever they were, wherever they were going, there was no way he could escape them.

And then he saw Ryo.

Ryo, crushed. Ryo, unable to survive. Ryo, moments from death.

The feeling of his own skin warping should have been excruciating, but he couldn’t think or feel at all, not enough for it to matter to him. As his limbs deformed, he felt almost as if he was levitating, seeing the world from a pair of stilts. The thick, furred arms that seemed to sprout from his shoulder were his own, though he was in no state to marvel at their incredible strength. The whole world seemed to shrink around him as his torso and neck and head grew to match, the furniture and people and walls becoming small and delicate. His vision didn’t clear, not really, but it grew incredibly sharp; where the world had once been twisted humans and colorful abominations, it was now beings so small they were completely beneath his concern and prey large enough to pounce on, large enough to tear apart, large enough to fill his belly and sate, for a short moment, the incredible hunger burning in his belly.

He tore the demon harassing him apart with ease, before it could even think; its sulfurous yellow blood smelled good, right, like the whole world should burn the same. The humans fleeing captured his attention for a second, and the urge to tear them apart consumed him; it was easy to think of how their ribs would snap beneath his hands, how he could break their legs apart, how simple it would be to crush their skulls and let their beautiful red blood spill out on the floor. He knew how good they would taste, how beautiful their screams would be, how little hope they would have and how it would feel to crush it entirely. They were weak and he was strong, and —

“Akira!”

Ryo’s shout broke him from his trance, and before he could even think of doing anything else he was bounding across the room. In his demonic eyes Ryo was almost luminous, so clearly something of incredible value that it wasn’t even worth questioning, as if his best friend was the king of the world. The demons harassing him were shredded in an instant, ripped jaw-to-tail and thrown aside; the demonic body that had crushed him was tossed away like the trash it was. Aggressively, he mantled over his friend, wings out, tail gnashing, daring the others to approach him even as he bawled his eyes out at the thought of his priceless friend being hurt.

Unfortunately for the other demons, they didn’t know just what they were getting into by doing just that. By the time Ryo could truly be said to be safe, the room had more yellow blood than red, painting it a lovely saffron shade. Any humans had fled, too horrified to keep watching. For all he knew, the demons who had been too scared to challenge him had chased after them. The thought was almost enough to bring him to tears.

“Akira?” Ryo’s voice was only a little unsteady, his demeanor surprisingly calm given what he’d just been through. Not even being pushed to the brink of death could unsettle him. “Don’t let your guard down. There are still demons around.”

Something about the sound was hypnotizing. Akira couldn’t help but listen to him, no interest in disobedience. He remained alert, making sure Ryo was safely tucked beneath him. “Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine, Akira. I’ll need to rest, but I’ve been through worse. Your senses should be stronger now - can you smell the other demons?”

He sniffed the air. The scent of sulfur hung heavy, but he could sense them easily. Easy prey. He nodded.

“Alright. Go hunt them down.”

“But Ryo—”

“Don’t worry about me. The demons are plenty susceptible to gunfire. Not enough to take down a whole Sabbath’s worth, but I can protect myself. Now, go! Don’t let them get away!”

There was something in his tone that demanded no argument, and for all Akira wanted to hold him close, to never abandon him, he couldn’t help but listen. All he could do was hunt those last few remnants as quickly as possible. The demons were pathetic, and at Ryo’s command he trampled them easily, crushing their necks and snapping their limbs and letting their weak bodies die the deaths they deserved. They had the nerve to be weaker than him, and even as the human in his heart cried for their tragic transformations, their loss of humanity, the demon in him knew the truth: they were weaker than him, and it was well within his right to kill them. More importantly, they’d threatened Ryo.  
He was already starting to sort his thoughts: demonic thoughts, dominated by power and violence and a desire to kill; human thoughts, true to who he really was. Ryo… Ryo belonged to both. Ryo belonged to all of them. To the human in him, Ryo was his best friend. To the devil in him, Ryo was something entirely different. Something precious, something perfect. A treasure and a lord all in one, the crown jewel of the kingdom. The human in him hurried back for the sake of his friend; the demon hurried back because his place was at Ryo’s side.

When he saw Ryo there, sitting on the floor, idly messing with one of his submachine guns. “Akira, welcome back. As I said, I was perfectly safe.”

“Ryo!” He bounded up to him, body still demonic, wrapping himself around his friend once again. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay is stretching it. I would drive us back home, but unfortunately I’m afraid I’m in no shape to walk, let alone drive. Take me home, and I’ll explain.”

“Ryo, you need to go to a hospital.”

“I told you — take me home.”

Wordlessly, Akira complied.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love the idea that something about Satan demands a certain amount of demonic attention, even if Akira/Amon doesn't entirely understand it. I'll probably write a follow-up to this!


End file.
